i forgot it was about love

When I was a kid, my ears were practically glued to some kind of speaker. My headphones, the stereo speakers, the tv, anything through which I could hear my favourite tunes. Mixtapes were my ultimate pastime, and I spent hours recording from one tape to the next, trying to construct the perfect order of my fave pop tunes. In high school it became the quest to download every mp3 I could find. In a conversation with a friend about what we were addicted to, she said talking to her bf (lol) and me? Downloading. The search for rare versions and kpop videos before the time of youtube was a puzzle I was willing to solve every day after school. This obsession with music must surely have meant that this was what I was destined for career wise. I was known as the one obsessed with music at school and had my hardcore favourites. I secretly dreamt about making it, of singing and of songwriting, but most people probably could guess anyway. But when the time came for the pursuit of it as a career, the love for it slowly dwindled away. And that was something I never saw coming. 

In the years of said Pursuit, hours were churned into practice and fixing my piano and vocal techniques. I went out and played music, but with the internal pressure valve now turned on, I couldn’t enjoy playing the tunes I wrote anymore. Instead of listening to new music, I grew uncomfortable thinking about how lucky these artists were. Uncontrollably, the obsession became about what people would think, rather than how I felt. And sure enough, even friends started noticing that my performances were no longer improving or felt the same as before. When it rains, it really does pour eh? Poo.

At the height of the Pursuit’s anxiety, I now never felt good enough and so I never had the heart to fully promote what I was doing and the music I had written. And don’t even get me started on how I felt about “the music business”. Slowly and very deep down, I started hating music. My childhood sanctuary was now a burden. I couldn’t feel what I used to feel when I listened or played it. And this was the cost of making music success it my everything and making it mean everything. 

and I had to stop. 

Long Breath Out.

Last year, I started hiding so much of my gear away, sold off expensive things I didn’t use anymore, and slowly started creating some separation between me and this mythical being. I barely listened to new music but mostly yoga music and taylor swift (since her music is the official antidote to heartbreak - a different story!) and let myself sit and even take walks in silences. 

Ever so slowly, things began to change. The pressure and the memory of the pressure, was actually beginning to relieve. And unplannedly, I started to remember and become grateful for how it could make me feel. But this time without losing myself or escaping into it, and without the codependency of making it mean so much (because quite honestly, nothing can or moreover, should, mean that much). 

And without so much pressure, glimpses of the love for it came back. 

I honestly didn’t think it would or could happen.

I still am that person that makes mixtapes, but as playlists on spotify now. I still play music in the shower though with yoga and meditation vibez. I still love discovering new artists and without feeling jealous or intimidated by them anymore. And the other day was the first time I picked up the guitar by myself in years. Just because I simply felt like it. It was a mini miracle. The road to recovery really is possible.

And moreover, I know what relationship I want with music now. 

And just a love for it will do. 

*grins*

I really don’t need much else. 

Love, Maia